Sunday, July 02, 2006

Sister Mary's Midterm Phillies Report Card


I told you before I am a godless fuck. I didn’t tell you why.

The seeds of my devilment were sewn by the Catholic Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Considering the clergy’s recent collective arrest record, and the scores of other “men of the collar” who never have been or never will be indicted for their crimes against humanity, it’s easy to understand the impact this gang of sadists and pederasts can have on impressionable youth.

No, this ain’t a sexual abuse story – I would have slugged any priest who tried to diddle my dinkus. Besides, they stunk of church wine, so I was never inclined to be an altar boy. As for the nuns, who reeked of stale panties and insisted they were married to Jesus, it was easy to see he preferred old maids and homely dykes.

Protected by their spouse, whom they daily cannibalized by a magical bread and wine proxy, the nuns got away with murder when it came to beating on pre-pubescent boys for the smallest infractions. Unlike Brett Myers, I was taught by my Kensington-bred father boys aren’t allowed to hit girls. So when the blue penguin came at you with a ruler and made hay, you more or less had to take your punishment. It was their way of giving your folks their tuition’s worth.

I was reminiscing about my joyful childhood in The Church of Perpetual Sorrows Parish School when it struck me there would be no better assessor of the Phillies at mid-term than my beloved seventh-grade teacher, Sister Mary of Lesbos, I.H.M., who is still alive and residing at Immaculata Rest Home For Old Closeted Diesels. She is still married to Jesus. She is still a Phillies fan. And she is not one bit happy. What follows is our conversation and the Phillies report card.

Tacony Lou: Hey there, bulldog. You don’t look a day older than 108.

Sister Mary of Lesbos: Well, if it isn’t the Son of Satan himself. Did they finally parole you?

TL: Never spent a day in jail, you old hag. By the way, I still got the scar from that crucifix you imbedded into my arm.

SM: That’s lovely. Blessed be the transfiguration. That’ll teach you to keep your hands folded when I tell you.

TL: My hands are perpetually folded, Sister. Are you still a Phillies fan?

SM: Those losers.

TL: So you’ve been watching?

SM: Do I have a choice?

TL: Now don’t get me into that pre-determinism versus free will argument again. Of course you have a choice. You could be offering up indulgences or incanting ejaculations from The Baltimore Catechism.

SM: I’ve never made anyone ejaculate!

TL: I’m sure you haven’t. I’m talking about a shout-out to Jesus.

SM: What in the name of our Blessed Mother are you here for?

TL: I’m trying to tell you. I’m here to get your grades on the Phillies.

SM: Those losers.

TL: You’ve established that. Let’s get more specific. You’ve been watching. Let’s go through the roster position by position. You may have been a terror in the classroom, but you sure knew how to critique a performance. Shall we?

SM: Well alright. I’ll start with pitching. They all get a red F.

TL: Go ahead, Sister. Get more specific.

SM: Lieber is guilty of the cardinal sins of sloth and gluttony. Look at the baby fat around his middle. No wonder he’s injured.

TL: He’s 37.

SM: Then it’s a beer gut. Who else is on that staff?

TL: I’m not sure the manager even knows.

SM: Oh, that man is a moron. Do you ever hear his press conferences? You can tell he never went to Catholic school. And the language of that man! He said team meetings were a bunch of “crap!” He gets a red F minus! And he is more gluttonous than Lieber.

TL: He is indeed fat. And he may never have gone to school, judging by his command of English.

SM: That’s not English he’s speaking. It is the forked tongue of Appalachian devil worshippers! Those families have a long history of incest, you know. My word! What is the world coming to? I much preferred Larry Bowa. He was Catholic.

TK: Let’s get back to the pitching. How about Brett Myers?

SM: Oh, the wife-beater. How lovely. He is slothful and angry. His soul is eternally corrupted by envy. He is headed to hell. He gets an F.

TL: Go on. The others?

SM: What others? Cory Lidle and the rookies? That’s not a pitching staff. It’s stand-up comedy. Whatever happened to Johnny Carson? They all get an F.

TL: Carson’s dead, Sister Mary. But let’s move along. Catcher?

SM: I like Sal Fasano. He gets an A. Good Italian Catholic boy.

TL: I see you’re still partial to your fellow cannibals. What about Lieberthal and Coste?

SM: Lieberthal is Jewish. Go ask his rabbi. Does he even play anymore?

TL: For $7.5 million this season. But he’s been injured.

SM: Well, he’s Jewish. So I suppose he doesn’t appreciate how Christ suffered his injuries carrying his cross. Maybe some of his relatives sentenced him to death.

TL: Well, for all we know, that’s a fairy tale.

SM: Regardless. He gets an F. All that money and he can’t play? Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

TL: Moving right along, then. How about Ryan Howard?

SM: He can hit the ball far but he can’t catch it. I noticed he has had a child out of wedlock. He’s a fornicator. Big deduction there. B at the best.

TL: I’m sure you’re a Chase Utley fan. Almost everyone is.

SM: I have my informers still. He’s Protestant. And I’m sure he committed sins venial and mortal as a youth in Babylon, California. B at the best.

TL: Now comes some rough spots. David Bell.

SM: His bad back are the wages of sin upon his flesh. I would say he has wasted the talent God has given him, but he has none. Could you give him one of my laxatives to get that pained look off his face? A red F for Mr. Bell. His bell has already tolled.

TL: And Jimmy Rollins, the Jelly Roll?

SM: A pathetic excuse for a hitter who will never learn to hit leadoff and who gives nothing but pathetic excuses for his blunders on the basepaths on the rare occasions he gets on base. And he listens to that evil rap music. He is prideful and greedy. He will burn in hell. A red F.

TL: Well, that leaves the outfielders, the bench and the bullpen.

SM: What’s there to like? The team is a failure. One big red F.

TL: Well, would you trade Abreu or Burrell?

SM: I’d keep them in detention for a year. I’d like to tan their biscuits, that’s what I’d like to do. Abreu reminds me of you. Good grades, bad conduct. He looks bored and his very presence on the team causes trouble. He truly is a manifestation of Satan. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He is ruinous to the franchise. He has baseball fans acting like homosexuals in their praise of his numbers. Well, how about these three numbers: 666. He is the beast, and like Satan, he needs to be cast into hell.

TL: You would cast one of the greatest Phillies hitters ever into hell?

SM: That’s just what I mean. As the Lord God Almighty will intone to the fallen, “Depart from me, ye wicked.” He’s like pornography for a married man. He ignores his wife and loses sight of his obligations to her. Sex is a sacred gift from God, yet he masturbates over dirty filth and drops his seed as Onan did. This is sin. Filthy, disgusting sin.

TL: What you really mean is that he takes too many walks, right?

SM: In the temporal world, yes. In the spiritual world, he is Mystery Babylon, the Whore.

TL: You sound like a television evangelist.

SM: Then this is my evangel: Trade Abreu and Burrell. They are two sides of the same coin. One is quietly evil, the other a drunken reveler and adept of buggery!

TL: And on what authority do you make that judgment?

SM: The Revered James J. Pederast.

TL: He’s out of the clink?

SM: Not only that, he’s drinking again. His yoke is easy and his burden is light.

TL: You mean he’s still light in the loafers, right?

SM: Well, I suppose a man can find a man anywhere these days. Suffice it to say Burrell earns his red F. A womanizer. An alcoholic. A whore. Father James plays in Olde City, you know. Burrell is headed to jail – then hell.

TL: That leaves the bench, and I can guess what your assessment is of that bunch.

SM: A perverted aberration!

TL: Hail Mary, full of grease, the load is with me.

SM: You always liked that obscene Irishman James Joyce, didn’t you?

TL: He’s an inspiration for any heretic.

SM: That’s just it. Abraham Nunez has lost his faith. What else explains an average that drops from .285 to .146? He is a perverted aberration. An exorcism might be in order. Could you pass me that bedpan?

TL: Wait, sister. Squeeze the old cheeks for a minute. How about the ownership. What do they get?

SM: You remember what Father James was put away for, don’t you?

TL: He buggered an altar boy.

SM: And the owners treat the fans no differently. I would say God should send them to hell to be with Satan, but there is no greater hell than the one they have created for the fans. They are the valedictorians of the bunch. A sparkling, hold-it-on-high A for their efforts. Make that an A minus. They should be kissing us as they fuck us. Oh, my. I can’t believe I said that!

TL: Don’t worry yourself, you old heifer. Philadelphia has lost its faith already. Join the club.

SM: I have half a mind to give you detention for the rest of the year.

TL: I’ve been detained since 1980 with the Phillies. I can do the rest of the season standing on my head.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

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12/8/06 6:49 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Really amazing! Useful information. All the best.
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17/8/06 11:41 AM  

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